And where her sweetest theme she chofe, A foft refponfive voice was heard at ev'ry close, And HOPE enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair. And longer had the fung-but, with a frown, He threw his blood-ftain'd sword in thunder down, The war-denouncing trumpet took, Were ne'er prophetic founds fo full of woe. The doubling drum with fur'ous heat; And though fometimes, each dreary paufe between, Dejected PITY at his fide Her foul-fubduing voice apply'd, Yet ftill he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each ftrain'd ball of fight feem'd burfting from his head. Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to nought were fix'd, Sad proof of thy diftrefsful ftate, Of diff'ring themes the veering song was mix'd, And now it courted LOVE, now raving call'd on HATE. With eyes up-rais'd, as one infpir'd, Pour'd through the mellow horn her penfive foul: Bubbling runnels join'd the found; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er fome haunted ftreams with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffufing, Love of PEACE and lonely muling, In hollow murmurs dy'd away. But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! Her bufkins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an afpiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to fawn and dryad known; The oak-crown'd fifters, and their chafte-ey'd queen, Satyrs and fylvan boys were feen, Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown EXERCISE rejoic'd to hear, And SPORT leapt up, and feiz'd his beechen spear. Laft came Joy's ecftatic trial, He, with viny crown advancing, Firft to the lively pipe his hand addreft, But foon he faw the brifk-awak'ning viol, Whofe fweet entrancing voice he lov'd the beft. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They faw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidft the feftal founding fhades, To fome unweary'd minstrel dancing: As if he would the charming air repay, Friend of PLEASURE, WISDOM's aid, 'Tis faid, and I believe the tale, Thy humbleft reed could more prevail, THE WINTER'S DAY. WHEN raging ftorms deform the air, And clouds of fnow defcend; And the wide landfcape bright and fair, When biting froft rides on the wind, When the poor trav'ller treads the plain, And crawls with night-encreafing pain, When the fond mother hugs her child And the poor infant, froft-beguil'd, Then let the bounteous hand extend Its bleffings to the poor, Nor fpurn the wretched while they bend All fuppliant at your door, FEAR. THOU, to whom the world unknown, I know thy hurried ftep, thy haggard eye! In earliest GREECE, to thee, with partial choice, Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' inceft'ous queen, Sigh'd the fad call her fon and husband heard, When once alone it broke the filent fcene, And he the wretch of THEBES no more appear'd. O FEAR, I know thee by my throbbing heart, Thy with'ring pow'r infpir'd each mournful line, Though gentle PITY claim her mingled part, Yet all the thunders of the fcene are thine. Thou who fuch weary length has past, Where wilt thou reft, mad nymph, at last? Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell, Where gloomy rape and murder dwell? Or, in fome hollow'd feat, 'Gainft which the big waves beat, Hear drowning feamen's cries in tempefts brought! Dark pow'r, with fhudd'ring meek fubmitted thought, Be mine, to read th' vifions old, Which thy awak'ning bards have told. The facred feat of SHAKSPEARE's breaft! Teach me but once like him to feel: |